


A Good Likeness

by apliddell



Series: Moonrise [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, Drarry, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Making Up, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Regulus Black - Freeform, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27410221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: Harry goes looking for Sirius's portrait at Grimmauld Place and finds a bit more than he bargained for
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Moonrise [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992589
Comments: 23
Kudos: 218





	1. Chapter 1

“Should I presume anything unfortunate about this bag?” Draco called from the bedroom. Draco didn’t believe that out of a trunk was even a little bit was any way to live. So they were two months on from moving into their cottage on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, and he was still looking for the perfect place to put this or that item from the three trunks they’d brought with them from Grimmauld Place or retrieved later on. 

Harry came in from the kitchen, brushing flour off his hands, “Eh?”

Draco was squatting beside an open trunk, surrounded by the dregs of its innards. As Harry entered, Draco held up a smallish drawstring bag and waggled it at him, “It doesn’t seem to want to let me put my hand in, and when I turn it upside down, nothing comes out. I can feel things moving around in there when I squeeze it. Something pointy maybe? I’m guessing you didn’t bring some sort of cursed bag with you?”

Harry came in and sat down next to Draco. He took the bag and had a look at it, “Oh, that’s mokeskin. Only the owner can access it. Not much in here, I don’t think.” He sat down next to Draco, opened the bag, and emptied it onto the rug. Out fell the Marauder’s Map, the silver hilt of a knife with the blade melted off, a shard of mirror about as long as Harry’s finger, and an old locket, quite blackened and melted so that it wouldn’t shut any longer. They made Harry feel very old and solemn, as if he were living his third lifetime at least. He wanted to sweep them all back into the bag and forget about them. 

Draco had gone solemn as well. He reached over Harry’s shoulder and picked up the bit of mirror, “These aren’t rubbish, are they?”

Harry watched Draco test the sharp broken edge of the mirror for a moment before answering, “That was a gift from my godfather, actually. Two way mirror. You have one and give the other to someone else, and then you can talk to each other. He said he and my dad used to talk through them when they had separate detentions.” 

Draco raised his eyebrows and peered into the empty mirror with interest, “Just like your two-way notebooks.”

Harry smiled, “Yeah, that’s partly where I got the idea from.”

“So you’re only half a genius, then. Still impressive. We all know that I benefited from your research into how to chat up a shut in. Why’s it like this?” he waved the shard to indicate its brokenness. 

Harry sighed, “Because I’m a numpty. It’s a long story.” 

Draco smiled sympathetically, “Fit of temper?”

Harry snorted, “I know that’s a joke, but I did have a bit of a problem with breaking things at the time. I should just. Get rid of this stuff. Throw it out. We’re meant to be leaving these things behind.” He picked up the knife hilt, “My godfather gave this to me as well. It used to be able to open any door, but I er. Tried to get in an evil door, and the door didn’t think much of that and melted my knife.” 

Draco nodded, “I do that myself from time to time.” 

Harry stuffed the bits back into the bag, “I don’t really want this stuff, but it feels strange getting rid of it, when I don’t have much from my godfather. Apart from the house, I suppose. Which is a bit. Dark.”

“It did try and kill you,” agreed Draco. “You might paste that bit of mirror into a scrapbook. Or just go and get his portrait from the house, and put that in the bin before you cut yourself on it.”

Harry shook his head, “I doubt they did a portrait of him. He was disowned when he ran away at sixteen. His mum burnt his name off the family tree tapestry with her wand. That’s your Great Auntie Walburga.”

Draco tossed his head, “I always forget you don’t know anything. Wizards don’t sit for magical portraits. Old wizarding houses just sort of make them.”

Harry thought about that, “The Weasleys don’t have any magical portraits that I know of.”

“Mm?” said Draco, looking pointedly down at his fingernails. “You mean to tell me that such an illustrious habitation as The Burrow doesn’t spit out magical portraits?”

“Oh is this one of your stupid class things?”

“Ah yes, the class division that I personally invented and personally enforce. Yes, of course.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “Want to tell me what you mean about the portrait?”

Draco gave him a longsuffering look, “The house will have just made a portrait when he died. If there was someone living there hostile to him at the time, the house might have hidden it. It’s not for the family, really. It’s wizarding history and wizard pride and ancient magic. It’d be almost impossible to undo that sort of spell even if the family wanted to. No one in living memory will know exactly how it was made, and it’s been reinforced hundreds of times over generations.” 

“Sorry, did you say the house might have hidden Sirius’s portrait?”

“Do keep up. Yes, the house has a duty to itself to preserve the family portraits. Even if the family would rather it didn’t.”

“That’s mental.”

Draco smiled bitterly, “‘The noble and most ancient house of Black.’ When you’re part of one of those old pureblood families, you aren’t just yourself. You’re a bit of history, and playing your part matters more than anything else.”

Harry reckoned he knew a little about the weight of inherited expectations. He gave Draco a quick hug that left floury handprints on his dark blue robes. 

“Yes, all right,” Draco brushed at the smudges. “I’m a nasty little wolf boy, so I’ve been excused. No need to feel. That.”

Harry gave him a contradictory sort of kiss, then carried on, “There was an elf who lived there before we moved in. Kreacher. He might know something about the portrait. I convinced him he didn’t have to stay, though, so we’d need to find him.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow, “Convinced him to leave? How did you do that? Hit him over the head with a lamp?”

“It took months,” said Harry. “And I gave him all the gold Sirius left me.”

“Nice little incentive.”

“Well I reckon the Blacks owed him quite a lot of backwages. There’s a free elf movement in France that goes beyond Hermione’s Spew badges, so he went off to live with the free elves.” 

Draco wrinkled his nose, “I don’t know what Spew is, but it sounds very messy. Yes, an elf might know something if he was living there with the family.”

“Hmm,” said Harry thoughtfully. “He writes to me sometimes. And he used to pop in for a chat occasionally, but not as much anymore.” He drummed his fingers on his knee for a moment, then cleared his throat, “Er, Kreacher? If you can hear me, and you’ve got a moment, I’d like a word. If you don’t mind.” 

There was a loud  _ crack _ , and Kreacher appeared in the room at once. He looked very well, plumper and more relaxed, and he was wearing a neat green suit though his shoes were more like soft slippers. Harry could see the chain of the locket he had once given Kreacher as a gift threaded through his waistcoat pocket like a pocket watch. 

“Good afternoon, Kreacher,” said Harry politely. “I hope you remember Draco Malfoy.” He touched Draco’s elbow. “He’s erm. He’s a great friend of mine these days.”

Draco waved awkwardly, “Hello.”

“Good afternoon Harry Potter,” said Kreacher in his deep voice, inclining his head. He regarded Draco with a guarded expression, “Kreacher of course remembers young Mr Malfoy.” 

“Oh dear,” said Draco under his breath. 

“Shush,” Harry muttered to Draco. “This isn’t about you. Erm Kreacher, I’m sorry to disturb you--hope you’re well?”

“Very well.” Kreacher inclined his head again, “Harry Potter has not disturbed Kreacher. Kreacher is very pleased to be seeing Harry Potter again. Did Harry Potter wish to speak to Kreacher of something in particular?” 

“It’s nice to see you too, Kreacher.” Harry got out his wand and conjured an elf sized chair that came out in a rather horrible furry orange upholstery, “Won’t you sit? Sorry that doesn’t look very nice.”

“Kreacher will be perfectly comfortable in this hideous chair, Harry Potter,” said Kreacher solemnly, taking a seat and crossing his ankle over his knee. 

“Er right yes, I did want to ask you about something. Draco here tells me that old wizarding houses will create portraits of members of the family after they die. Have you seen anything like that about the house on Grimmauld Place?”

Kreacher nodded, “Oh yes, the house created many portraits of the Black family while Kreacher was held there. Harry Potter has seen the portrait of Mrs Black which cannot be removed from the house, although Kreacher did assist Harry Potter with attempting to remove it many years ago when Harry Potter lived in the house with Kreacher.”

Harry felt cheered to hear it, “Right, yeah. I do remember that. Er I’m looking for a particular portrait. One for Sirius? Did you ever see a portrait of Sirius about the house?”

Kreacher shook his head, “The house would not have revealed such a portrait to Kreacher, Harry Potter. Mrs Black would have forced Kreacher to dispose of it, and the house could not allow such a thing.” 

“But Mrs Black died well before Sirius did. Surely his portrait would have been safe from her?”

Kreacher shifted uneasily when he answered, as if the memories didn’t sit well, “Mrs Black’s portrait continued to give Kreacher orders after her death. Mr Sirius Black’s portrait would not have been safe in the house as long as Kreacher was still enslaved to the Black family. The house could not have shown such a portrait to Kreacher,” he finished firmly.

Harry sagged a little, then brightened, “But the house certainly must have made one?” 

Kreacher nodded, “‘Tis the nature of the house, Harry Potter. Every member of the Black family must have a portrait upon their death.” 

“So I might find Sirius’s portrait, if I hunt for it?”

“The house may even present the portrait to Harry Potter, if it sensed that the portrait was sought and that Harry Potter would not harm the portrait.” 

“Thanks so much, Kreacher. That’s really helpful.” 

Kreacher made another little incline of his head, slightly deeper this time, “Kreacher is happy to assist Harry Potter. Sometimes.”

Harry grinned, “I really appreciate you turning up, Kreacher. Stay for tea?”

Draco murmured something that sounded like, “Fresh scones?”

Kreacher shook his head, “Kreacher must be bidding Harry Potter farewell and returning home. Kreacher is expected soon.”

“I won’t keep you, then,” said Harry, standing up to shake hands. Something occurred to him, “Kreacher, is there a portrait of Regulus Black in the house as well?”

Kreacher nodded fervently as he got to his feet, “This, Kreacher has seen with his own eyes, Harry Potter. But Kreacher was obliged to conceal this portrait from Mrs Black in order to preserve the secret of Mr Regulus Black’s betrayal of the Dark Lord, as Kreacher promised to do before the death of Mr Regulus Black.” 

“Did you take it with you when you left?” 

Kreacher shook his head, looking rather scandalised, “The portrait remains in Kreacher’s bedroom. It would not be Kreacher’s place to remove it from the house.” 

“Well, it’s my place, since it’s my house. I could look for it and send it on to you, if I find it,” Harry offered. 

Kreacher seemed to be very moved by that. His large eyes shone, and he looked at Harry in silence for several seconds before he spoke again, “Harry Potter has always been very kind to Kreacher.”

“Not always,” said Harry, a little embarrassed thinking of the beginning of their relationship. “We’re trying now, though, aren’t we?”

“We try,” said Kreacher a little stiffly. And he held out his hand to shake Harry’s once, then clicked his fingers and vanished with a loud  _ crack. _


	2. Chapter 2

“Truly hate the idea of there being a talking portrait of me about Malfoy Manor after I peg out,” said Draco with a shudder, pulling on his elbow length dragon skin gloves. They’d finished with tea, and as Harry was obviously jittery and restless, Draco suggested that they go over to Grimmauld Place that very evening. Harry made Draco help him with the washing up first. He didn’t want to seem too desperate. 

“Hopefully Mother’ll go before me,” Draco continued. “And at least then the house won’t have to play hunt the slipper with my picture.” He brightened, “Though perhaps some daring muggle in the village will get sick of looking at the old place, and burn the whole thing to the ground in a fit of anti-capitalism before I manage to die.”

“Has anyone ever told you what a charming conversationalist you are?” Harry grumbled, donning his own gloves. They generally wore the gloves whenever they returned to Grimmauld Place to collect something they’d left behind, since the gloves would protect against brief contact with most curses. “I know you don’t know what capitalism means; you just nicked that off Hermione.”

“ _ You _ died,” said Draco thoughtfully. “Momentarily. Maybe some Potter ancestral home’s got a talking miniature of you somewhere.” 

“Yeah, I was being sarcastic before!” said Harry. “Can we talk about anything else in the world, please?”

Draco fell silent for a moment watching Harry fiddle with the lid on the tin of Floo Powder, “I did a lovely poo this morning,” he said after Harry tossed the powder into the kitchen fire. 

Harry laughed, “Of course you’re in the mood to call my bluff.”

Draco laughed too, then went serious, “Are you excited?”

Harry shrugged, “We might not even find the portrait.”

“But we might do, and then you’d get to. You know. Speak to him.”

“It won’t be him; it’ll be a picture of him,” said Harry. He’d been telling himself that about ten times an hour since Kreacher had assured him that there was certainly a magical portrait of Sirius at Grimmauld Place. 

Draco nodded, “My Great great Auntie Orion’s portrait used to harangue people to finish the game of charades that killed her.”

Harry frowned, “She. What?!” 

“Heart failure in the middle of a very heated game of charades at a dinner party one evening, apparently. But she was so sure she’d win that she kept trying to make everyone play with her. We had to turn her portrait to face the wall, actually. The clue was ‘octopus,’ which really isn’t too hard. But she’d go into such a fury if you guessed right.” 

“That isn’t even how you pl-never mind. Just get in the fire, please.”

Draco stepped in as directed. After he vanished in a blaze of green, Harry threw in another pinch of Floo Powder and followed him. 

Draco was already brushing ash off his robes when Harry arrived, and waved his wand to light the lamps as Harry stepped out of the fire. 

They set off for Kreacher’s room together, where they quickly found the portrait of Regulus, wrapped carefully in a torn piece of sheet, with the skinny, dark haired subject of the painting deeply asleep and snoring gently. 

“Well that was easy,” said Harry. “Now if only we could find Sirius’s portrait so fast.”

“Where should we start?” asked Draco brightly. 

Harry privately suspected that Draco was trying to be nice because Harry was in rather a shit mood. He was grateful for the cheer, but a little annoyed that his moodiness had been noticed, “In his bedroom, I reckon. Don’t know where else.”

Draco nodded, “Lead the way.” 

Harry took Draco’s gloved hand as they set off toward Sirius’s bedroom, and when Draco pressed his fingers, he pressed back. Once they’d crept past the portrait of Great Auntie Walburga without incident and shut the door of Sirius’s bedroom behind them, Draco assumed a businesslike air. 

“Shall we review the plan again?” 

Harry remembered the plan perfectly, but he knew Draco would be more comfortable if they reviewed it anyway, so he nodded, “Right. Gloves on at all times.”

“Split up so that we’re not looking at the same thing at the same time in case one of us is mesmerised by something,” continued Draco. 

Harry propped Regulus’ portrait against the side of the wardrobe “Though there probably isn’t anything cursed in Sirius’s bedroom. I mean he slept here. I slept here myself, when I was on the run.”

“Regular check-ins,” said Draco a little sternly. “And no trying on any clothing or jewelry or hats or boots or gloves, crowns, circlets, tiaras, fetching scarves, fishnet stockings, or anything.”

“And no eating or drinking out of anything we find here or until we’re back at the cottage,” finished Harry. “I’ll take the wardrobe. You want to look behind the wall hangings?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Draco turned to pat down the nearest wall hanging before lifting it up to look underneath. 

“You’re  _ very _ funny,” Harry opened the wardrobe and pushed through the clothing right to the back, “I’m such a lucky man.” 

“Mutual,” trilled Draco from behind him, which did actually make Harry laugh. 

There wasn’t anything at the back of the wardrobe or along the walls, so Harry climbed into it to feel around the bottom before moving on with his search. There he did find something. It wasn’t a portrait at all. It was a tin box, very dusty and rather battered but quite modern compared with most of the other things Harry had seen around the house. 

Clutching the box to his chest, Harry slid out of the cupboard to sit on the bedroom rug. He knew the box must have belonged to Sirius, and maybe even that he’d bought it after his escape from Azkaban. He could hear the soft rustle of folded paper sliding about when he lifted it, and when he tried to open it, it was locked. He wished briefly for his destroyed unlocking knife, then pulled out his wand, “Alohomora.” The lock clicked, and the lid popped open. 

“What’ve you got there, Harry?” said Draco at once, coming to peer over Harry’s shoulder. 

“Look away,” Harry said. “In case it sends me mad or something you’ll need to save me from.”

Draco sighed and turned his back, and with fingers trembling with excitement, Harry lifted out the first folded bit of parchment. It was clean of dust, unlike the box, and soft along its creases, as if it had often been folded and unfolded. It was part of a letter. Half a sheet of cramped and faded longhand, wobbly in places as if the writer’s hand had shaken in the grip of some strong emotion. The handwriting sparked a distant familiarity that wouldn’t quite coalesce into recognition. The page with the salutation wasn’t folded up along with it, and the page Harry had hold of began mid-sentence, 

_ ever too kind to me, too good, too forgiving for your own good. I believed the lies about you, despite everything. Despite having known you as I know my own heart and my own body. Despite the devotion you showed to me and to James, both at Hogwarts and afterward. Despite letting you convince me that I am not a monster, I was fool enough to believe you were one.  _

_ After all that, I come sniveling back to you, and I find to my utter shock that you still love me. I don’t know what to say. I will try to deserve it. I never can.  _

_ Ever ever ever yours, in gratitude, in adoration, in love forever,  _

_ R _

“What is it?” asked Draco urgently, butting his knee against Harry’s back. “Not cursed, are you? Knock twice if you’re cursed.” 

“It’s a letter,” said Harry slowly. And he read it aloud. A little silence bloomed between them when Harry had finished reading. 

Draco sank slowly to his knees beside Harry, “It’s a love letter. James is your dad, right?” Harry nodded woodenly. “Who’s ‘R’? Do you know?” 

“That’ll be. Remus. Professor Lupin. It must be.” Harry put the letter back into the box and shut it with a snap, “We shouldn’t be reading these. I can’t. I can’t read their love letters! What’s the matter with me?!” He shoved the box back into the cupboard and slammed the door shut. 

Draco stroked Harry’s shoulder tentatively, “Did you. You didn’t know?”

“None of us knew!” Harry shouted. 

“Harry,” began Draco gently. 

“I need to get out of here,” Harry jumped to his feet and grabbed Regulus’ portrait from where it sat propped against the cupboard. “What am I doing, rooting around through his life like this like I can just. Like he wasn’t even a person! I need to get out of here!” His wand shot a volley of multi-coloured sparks right where it lay on the carpet and burnt the finish along the bottom of the cupboard. Harry stooped to snatch up his wand, and turned on the spot to Disapparate without another word. 

Harry landed in the unofficial Apparation area in Hogsmeade. He ducked into the Post Office to send the portrait of Regulus Black off to Kreacher using a pair of huge post owls, as the parcel was so large. He thought of walking down to The Hogshead for a quiet pint of pixie ale, but the idea of conversation, even a casual exchange with Aberforth set his teeth on edge. Instead he walked home with his head down, answering the occasional cheery hail from a neighbour with a terse nod. 

He was unsurprised to find Draco waiting for him in the cottage when he got in, and a little annoyed that Draco didn’t insist they discuss his outburst. Only offered to put the kettle on and asked if there were any biscuits in. 

“Yeah, look in the tin next to the bread bin,” said Harry shortly. “I’m going to take Toad for a walk. Maybe up toward the castle.”

“I’ll come along,” said Draco, immediately abandoning his plans to make tea. 

Harry sighed and went to fetch Toad’s lead, “Why are you being nice to me, when I’m being such a.” 

“It’s excellent niceness practise?” 

“Fine, come along,” Harry bent to clip Toad’s lead to his collar. “But I don’t want to talk.” 

“Then I’ll just admire the scenery,” said Draco airily. 

…

Twilight was falling and along with it an icy drizzle. Harry cast an Impervius Charm on all of them to at least keep the rain off their faces and stubbornly walked on. 

They’d been out only a quarter of an hour before Draco piped up, “We can’t even pretend this walk is for pleasure, can we? Maybe we could brood at home? Sitting beside the window gives you that nice crap weather atmosphere without freezing off any body parts you’re fond of. Me, I’d like to keep my nose. I’m quite attached to yours as well, while we’re on the subject.”

Harry looped his arm through Draco’s, affection breaking through his moodiness, “I really don’t  _ want _ to be a berk.”

Draco laughed and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek, “Then don’t be!” 

They turned back. Harry, in interest of casting off berkdom, put the kettle on and cut a slice of cake for himself and Draco, because cake was nicer than biscuits for a warm-up snack. Draco laid the kitchen fire, and Toad shot into his basket as if magnetically attracted. 

“I should have cooked dinner,” said Harry, once he had two cups of tea and a slice and a half of cake warming his belly. 

“We’ll get to it,” said Draco lightly. He poured out another cup of tea each and added a drop of Pepper Up Potion to both cups. “They’re like us,” said Draco suddenly, when they’d both finished their third cup of tea. “That’s not so. I mean there’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”

“Not wrong!” Harry leaned up out of his chair to kiss Draco as a sort of apology. “Not wrong, that’s not why. Not at all.”

“Tell me what the problem is?”

Harry looked down at his empty mug, “I don’t. It’s like I didn’t even know them. And they didn’t know me. They’ll never. It’s like.” There was a tear sliding down his nose, and Harry dashed it away with the back of his hand. “It’s like they were never even here with me. It’s like losing them again. I didn’t know them.” 

There was nothing much to be said to that. They held hands across the table, until Draco’s stomach growled loudly. And with apologies for his selfishness, Harry got up and cooked supper. 


	3. Chapter 3

Harry sat up in bed reading until Draco had dropped off to sleep, and after he put his book aside, only tossed and turned for hours, trying not to check his watch to see how much of his night had been squandered in fretting. When watery greyish light started to leak under the gaps around their curtains and the birds began to make a joyful racket in the trees outside the window, Harry got up. He slipped on his dressing gown and stuffed his feet into his slippers, telling himself that he’d just step outside with Toad for a breath of fresh air and knowing all the while that it wasn’t true. 

When Harry stepped into the front room, he tossed a glance over his shoulder toward the bedroom and stood stock still and listening for stirrings or signs that Draco was awake. When none came, he crept to the fire and pulled out his wand, “Incendio.” The flames erupted at once, cheerful and warm. Harry tossed in a pinch of Floo powder and stepped into the fire, “Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.” 

He saw it before he’d even stepped out of the grate. A large gilt-framed portrait, hanging on the wall opposite the fireplace. Sirius was sound asleep and leaning against the frame, his arms folded over his gently rising and falling chest. He looked young and handsome as he had in the photos Harry had seen of Lily and James' wedding, his face fuller and more relaxed than Harry could remember it ever being in life. Harry’s heart gave a great leap of excitement. He stepped out of the fire and crossed to the wall at once. The portrait lifted easily off the wall without waking the subject, and Harry carried it back to the fireplace before the Floo flames had even died away. 

Draco was waiting for him on his return, arms folded and looking very young in a pair of Harry’s Snitch patterned pyjamas, “Harry. You promised.” 

“I know,” Harry hugged the portrait to himself. “I was only a moment. I didn’t want to wake you. I’ve been gone literally less than a minute.” 

Draco threw up both of his arms in frustration, “Didn’t want to wake me? So stay in bed til half past arse o’clock in the morning at least, and wait until we can go back together! You didn’t even wear your gloves!”

“Well I lived there for five years, so pardon me if I don’t think I’m going to spontaneously combust if I put my toe over the threshold on my own!” 

“Nobody’s judgement is worth a damn except yours, is it?!” Draco threw himself onto the sofa, “That isn’t the point! We  _ agreed! _ We agreed that we’re not going to do things we both know are dangerous without taking precautions! It’s such a tiny thing to just wait for me and wear your damn gloves!”

Harry scoffed, “‘Dangerous’! I stepped into a room and stepped out of it again!”

“But you told me you wouldn’t!” Draco shouted, his face flushing. “It’s the principle! You said you don’t want to be a berk! This is being a berk, Harry! This is being selfish!”

“I know that!” Harry roared. 

Draco’s angry flush was receding blotchily, and he looked pale and very tired, “Then what are you going to do about it?” 

“Harry?” an achingly familiar voice interrupted. Harry started so hard that he dropped the portrait on the floor. Sirius had waked up and was looking up at him, a bemused sort of smile passing across his face. 

“There now,” said Draco. “You’ve got what you want. I’m going back to bed.” And he stalked off and slammed the bedroom door behind him. 

Harry knelt and propped Sirius’s portrait up against the wall, “Sirius.”

“Was that the Malfoy boy telling you to be more responsible or something like that?”

“Something like that,” agreed Harry heavily. 

“Where are you? What is he doing there?” 

Harry didn’t know how to answer, so he didn’t, “I. Have really missed you.”

Sirius smiled sadly, “Sorry to be talking to you from in here. I really wanted to. To see you through it all.”

Harry swallowed hard at the lump rising in his throat, “I know you did. It isn't your fault.”

Sirius reached out like he might like to put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, then dropped it, “Well then.” He coughed, “How is it. Going?”

Harry grinned weakly, “It’s over. It’s been over for years. We won.” 

Sirius gaped, “It’s over?”

“It’s over.”

“And Voldemort?”

Harry slashed a line across his throat with his hand, “Dead as dirt. I saw it happen myself.” 

Sirius let out a low whistle, “ _ Years _ , you said?”

Harry nodded, “About six years now.” 

Sirius laughed a rather hysterical laugh of joy and relief, “No wonder you look so bloody old!”

Harry grinned at the idea, “I’m twenty-four.” 

Sirius shook his head, “Bloody hell. Older than James was.”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged. “I think about that a lot.” 

Sirius let out one of his infectious barks of laughter, “I’d be forty fucking five! Good thing I’m dead, eh?” 

Harry smiled rather against his will, “I think it’d probably have grown on you. Aging.” 

Sirius’s face went solemn, “I’m sorry, Harry. I really am.” 

Harry shook his head, “So’m I. It’s not your fault. Really it isn’t.” 

They were quiet for a time, and when Sirius spoke again, it was with studied nonchalance, “How’s Remus?” 

Harry’s face and hands seemed to grow cold, “He. He erm.”

“Oh,” said Sirius quietly. “In the war?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. Right. Right at the end. I’m sorry.” 

Sirius’s eyes spilled over, and he wiped them on his sleeve, nodding, “I used to. When I was inside, I used to wonder if he’d still. If he was still around. It’s a rough life. Being a werewolf.”

“A lycanthrope,” Harry corrected automatically. 

“Hmm?” said Sirius absently, still wiping his eyes, which were streaming readily. 

“I found your letters,” Harry said in a rush. “I only read one of them. Part of one. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t. I didn’t know.” 

“Letters?” Sirius looked up, confused. “What letters?” 

“The letters from Remus. In the tin box at the bottom of the cupboard in your bedroom,” Harry ducked his head, ashamed like a child about to be scolded for stealing sweets. 

To his surprise, when he looked up, Sirius was smiling through his tears, “Oh. Those letters.” 

“I didn’t mean to snoop!” Harry insisted. “It didn’t occur to me that I would find a. A secret. I was looking for your portrait.” 

Sirius raised an eyebrow, “And you thought it might be inside a little tin box?”

Harry hung his head again, “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s all right, Harry. Don’t look like that. Remus and I had nothing to be ashamed of. It didn’t used to be a secret, really. James knew. And Lily. Peter. Dumbledore. Most of the Order. Some people have been a little funny about it, but there was a war on, and everyone had other things to be getting on with.”

“Oh,” said Harry. He knew not to ask why Sirius and Remus hadn’t told him, but the question burned his tongue anyway. 

“We meant to tell you,” said Sirius gently like he’d read Harry’s mind. “We truly did. We couldn’t seem to find the moment.”

“I.” Harry drew in a long breath, “I’m like that, too. I mean. I’m. I’m gay as well.” 

To Harry’s satisfaction, Sirius looked quite surprised, “Well!” He let out another of his little barks of laughter, “Welcome aboard!”

Harry laughed too, “Thanks. Nice to be here.”

Sirius assumed a knowing expression, “Is it a secret for you?” 

Harry shrugged, “I haven’t done an interview for the Daily Prophet about it. Ron and Hermione know. All the Weasleys do. And most of my friends. And I sort of outed myself at the Three Broomsticks a few weeks ago. I’m a loud drunk. Oh, I live in Hogsmeade now.”

Sirius peered round the edges of the frame, trying to get a look at the cottage, “Charming.”

“Thanks,” said Harry. “We like it.” 

An interesting combination of understanding and bafflement passed over Sirius’s face, “‘We’ being yourself and…”

Harry grinned, “Draco Malfoy, yeah.”

Sirius shook his head, “No offence meant Harry, but er.”

“How’d that happen?” 

Sirius nodded, “Exactly. Wasn’t he rather erm.” He paused, “How did that happen?”

“It’s sort of a long story,” Harry said. “People change.” 

Sirius looked far away for a moment, and Harry wondered if he might be thinking of Pettigrew or even of himself, “People change. Indeed.” He looked at Harry shrewdly, “‘Lycanthrope’, you said before.”

“What? Oh yeah, erm. Well the other term is considered a bit outdated, now. Sort of offensive even. Because they aren’t actually Dark creatures, you know. They’re just ordinary people with a really serious illness that can b-”

“Like godfather, like godson, eh?” Sirius interrupted, bouncing an eyebrow at Harry. 

Harry grinned, “Well. Yeah.” 

“And he makes you happy?” 

“Yes,” said Harry fervently. “He’s. Yes. He makes me happy. He’s. He’s brilliant, actually. I really. Yes. He does make me happy.” 

“I’m really pleased for you, Harry. Nothing in the world like love.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, glancing toward the bedroom and rubbing at the prickles of guilt that were creeping down his neck. “We aren’t usually like that. What you overheard. I’m being a bit ungrateful right now, I suppose. He’s just trying to look after me.” 

“What happened?”

“I went over to Grimmauld Place on my own to get your portrait, and I’d told him I wouldn’t. Well I got cursed there a few months ago. One of those stupid Sleeping Death goblets. That’s why we had to move-”

“'Had to move'?” Sirius interrupted. “What do you mean ‘move’? Move house?”

Harry frowned, “Well yeah. We lived there. I mean. You left me the house. I wanted to live there. I did live there, for about five years. From a bit after I left Hogwarts til I got cursed, and we had to leave it.”

Sirius stared, “I left it to you so that it wouldn’t be passed to my mad cousin Bellatrix. You spent  _ five years _ living in that place? Harry, I lost my mind after nine months there!”

“That was different,” said Harry indignantly. “I wasn’t trapped; I was living there by choice.”

“An unfathomable choice,” said Sirius flatly. “Among all that Dark rubbish? With my mother’s portrait? With  _ Kreacher _ ?” 

“Kreacher’s different now, too,” said Harry weakly. 

“He must be extremely different if you'd live with him by choice.”

“He is,” returned Harry a little sharply. “He took clothes.”

Sirius’s mouth fell open, “He took  _ clothes? _ ” 

“Yeah, I gave him all your gold, and he went off to live in Paris with the Free Elf movement. Saw him yesterday, actually. He’s looking well. He helped me bring down Voldemort. Obviously that bit didn't happen yesterday.” 

Sirius burst into hearty laughter, “Well! You go and die, and the world turns topsy turvy. I’d never have believed it.” 

“It is pretty amazing,” Harry allowed. 

“That’s to do with you, isn’t it? Did you bring about all this miraculous nature-changing, Harry?” 

“It isn’t miraculous,” Harry protested. “It’s just. It’s. Growth. Everybody does it.” 

Sirius shook his head, “You’re a special person, Harry, and you have a gift with other people. Accept it.” 

Harry looked down, embarrassed, “You sound like Dumbledore.” 

“You’ll have to take our word for it then, Harry, if you can’t see it yourself. I’m glad I was able to know you for a little while. It’s so extraordinary to see what a fine young man you’ve become. But you always have been such a bright light. Even when you were a baby. I remember going round with Remus to see you and your parents. You were such a sweet little boy. You made us all so happy. All four of us.”

“All right then,” Harry mumbled. “You’re going to make me cry.” 

They were quiet for a moment. Sirius seemed to be thinking, “Grimmauld Place is a rotten old ruin, Harry. Forget about it. I never wanted you to live there.”

“But we did live there for a while,” said Harry. “You and me and Remus. And the Weasleys for a bit. And I lived there with Ron and Hermione when we were on the run during the war.”

“We were all trapped there,” Sirius corrected him gently. “We had nowhere else to go. The war’s over, Harry. Time to move on.”

Harry sighed, “That’s what Draco says.”

“I like him already,” said Sirius promptly. 

Harry laughed, “You’d love him. He’s hilarious and. Sweet. And really silly. He’s good fun.” 

“I’m sure,” said Sirius warmly. 

“I should be nicer to him. I really ought to go and apologise.”

“Couldn’t hurt. You can sort me out later; I’m not going anywhere.”

Harry frowned, “Sort you out?”

“I’d rather not go back to Grimmauld Place, if that’s all the same to you. We can have a chat later about where might be a good spot for me to end up.” 

“You don’t want to stay here?” 

Sirius cocked his head, “It’s lovely to see you again, Harry, but don’t you think it might be a bit awkward to have my old portrait hanging round your sitting room all the time? Not very conducive to moving on, mm?”

Harry considered that, “Where might you want to go?” 

Sirius blew out a breath, “Godric’s Hollow is no good now, I suppose. And James’ parents’ place might have done me, but we used it as a base after they passed, and it was destroyed in the war as well. There haven’t been many places that felt like home.”

“I know how you feel,” said Harry glumly. Then he brightened, “What about Hogwarts?”

“Hogwarts?” Sirius pondered it, then frowned. “Doubt they’d have me. They can’t just hang up portraits of every former student who was fond of the place. The walls’d be covered.” 

Harry grinned, “I’m surprised to hear you imply I might ask permission.”

Sirius beamed, “I’m in. What’ve you got in mind?”


	4. Chapter 4

Harry came quietly into the bedroom and got into bed on his own side. Draco was lying on the bed in the foetal position with his back to the door, and the blankets pulled up to his nose so that only the silvery blonde top of his head was visible. 

“I can’t tell if you’re awake,” Harry murmured. 

“I am awake,” said Draco. 

“I’m sorry,” said Harry at once. 

“That’s all right. I’m going to get up and have breakfast in a minute.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Draco didn’t answer, so Harry pressed on, “I’m really sorry for shouting at you. And for being dishonest.”

“Thank you,” said Draco. 

Harry waited for him to say anything else, but he didn’t, so Harry said something instead, “I was really out of order. I did promise you, and. You should be able to believe me.”

“That would be lovely,” said Draco stiffly into the pillow. Then he added, “I am also sorry for shouting.” 

“It’s all right,” said Harry quickly. “Can I promise again, or is it a bit stupid?”

“It is a bit stupid,” agreed Draco. “But you can promise again.”

“I promise to be careful,” said Harry. He really did mean it. 

“Just slow down a bit and think,” Draco said almost affectionately. He rolled over to face Harry, “And I’d have gone with you if you’d just woken me up, you Gryffindor fool.”

Harry was surprised, “Would you?” 

Draco sat up just so he could toss his hair, “Of course I would. You don’t think I can’t keep up with you?” 

“At five in the morning?”

“Try me.” 

“I love you,” said Harry earnestly. 

Drac o kissed him, “Sop.” 

Harry helped himself to another kiss, “Would you like to a little bit break the law with me tonight?”

Draco pressed a hand to his heart rapturously, “Absolutely!” 

…

“I knew it!” said Draco, when he laid eyes on Harry’s invisibility cloak. “I knew it I knew it I knew it I knew it I bloody knew you had an invisibility cloak!” He hopped once on the spot, “I knew it! You! Ergh! I knew it!” 

Harry laughed all through that, “How astute of you.” 

“I knew it since  _ third year _ , Harry Potter! The mud outside the Shrieking Shack! I saw your head! You bastard! I knew it!” 

“Is it perverse that I really want to kiss you right now? God, thwarting you is just so sexy.”

“Bastardry! It’s in my favour; I’ll allow it,” Draco leaned forward, and they kissed. 

Harry held out the cloak, “Get in, my love.” Draco stepped into the cloak, and Harry followed after him, pulling and turning it so that it hid their feet. 

“This actually is quite sexy,” Draco caught Harry’s hand and stroked his palm suggestively. “How have we never done this before?”

Harry grinned, “Easy does it. Maybe on the way home.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Or you hold me to it. I usually like that even better.”

Harry laughed and tried to find a likely bit of Draco to kiss, “That’s  _ only _ funny because you’re really hot.”

“I’ll take it.”

Harry checked his watch pointlessly, as he couldn’t see it under the cloak, “We really should get a shift on.”

“Fine by me. You’re the one standing around seducing me. Oh, what have you done with the portrait?”

“I’ve got it right here,” Harry reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a certain beaded handbag. 

“I’m sure if I could see you, I’d be oooing and ahhing right now,” said Draco patiently. 

Harry laughed, “I borrowed Hermione’s handbag. She put an undetectable extension charm on it.”

“That’s our Hermione,” said Draco fondly, and Harry swelled with answering fondness. Draco prodded Harry in the ribs, “By all means, let’s be off.” And they were off. 

…

It took them quite a long time to walk to Honeydukes, shuffling along like a pantomime horse. Draco wasn’t used to it, and distracted himself by making jokes, so kept tripping over his feet, slopping into Harry and nearly jostling the cloak off one or both of them. 

“Do you really look down at your feet so much when you walk normally?” asked Harry in indulgent exasperation as he caught Draco by the elbow for the third time. 

“I didn’t think I did,” said Draco good-naturedly. “But it’s been a time of discovery for both of us.” 

So loud was Draco’s gasp of outrage when Harry opened the secret trapdoor in the Honeydukes cellar that Harry had to clap a hand over his mouth and pull Draco quickly into the passage. Harry had forgotten how low the tunnel was. They had to stoop when they stepped in. 

As soon as the mouth of the passage had sealed behind them, Draco whipped off the cloak and lit his wand so that Harry could see his accusatory expression, “You little sneak! I knew it!” 

Harry laughed, “Yeah, you’re very clever. Please put the cloak back on and shut up. We’re still right under Honeydukes; someone will hear you.” 

Draco continued to mutter darkly as they slunk up the tunnel, feeling their way along in the dark. When they got to the end of it, Harry threw off the cloak and lit his wand to check the Marauder’s Map. 

“Now what’s this?” Draco peered over Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry grinned, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he intoned. Draco made another of his indignant gasps as the map populated itself before his very eyes. “Shush,” whispered Harry. “Look,” he found the dots labeled with their names and tapped the map with his lit wand tip. “That’s us.” 

“Did you make this?” asked Draco in awe. 

Harry shook his head, “Sirius did. And my dad. And Professor Lupin, and Wormtail. The Weasley twins nicked it out of Filch’s office when they were at Hogwarts, and they passed it along to me third year.”

“This is amazing.” He leaned closer to look down at the map, “Looks like the corridor is clear. Shall we?” 

“Let’s,” and Harry let them out into the passage. They skulked along to the seventh floor til they found the portrait of Barnabus the Barmy.  _ I need a place to hide, _ Harry thought, holding onto Draco about the waist to make sure they both stayed covered by the cloak as they paced.  _ We need a place to hide til the coast is clear. _ He wasn’t sure the room would appear. It had been burnt by the Fiendfyre. But on the third pass, the door appeared and they went inside. The room was smaller than Harry had ever seen it before, and no trace of its episode with the cursed fire remained. 

There was a sofa pushed against the wall opposite the door and an easel and a stack of quidditch magazines on a small side table. Harry sat down on the sofa, took out the beaded bag and pulled Sirius’s portrait out of it. He put the portrait on the easel, and Sirius looked about curiously. 

“I remember this place. Mind it didn’t quite look like this,” he said cheerfully. “I used to come up here with Moony, when. Erm. We fancied a bit of privacy.”

Harry grinned, “Funny, that never occurred to me when I was at Hogwarts.” He glanced over at Draco, who was prowling about uneasily. “Are you all right?” 

“You saved my life here,” said Draco. “But you can’t even tell.” He looked up at the ceiling. “It’s all gone. You can’t tell about any of it.” 

Harry looked up as well and remembered the fierce heat. The roar of the chimeras in the flame. Their lashing limbs and tongues. He shuddered, “Would you want to?”

Draco shrugged, perched on the arm of the sofa, then shook his head, “No, of course not. This is a school. It shouldn’t be a war memorial as well.” 

“Well said,” said Sirius quietly. 

“Anyway,” said Draco briskly. “Anyone for charades?”

…

They all sat in the Room of Requirement til well after it was time for the students to be in their common room for the night. Harry kept checking his watch, and when he reckoned it’d be all right, he lifted Sirius’s portrait off the easel apologetically. 

“Last time,” he said bracingly as he pushed it inside the beaded bag. Then he and Draco pulled on the invisibility cloak again, left the Room of Requirement, and sneaked up to Gryffindor Tower. They found a likely looking patch of bare wall near a tapestry of dancing rabbits and underneath a painting of a group of wizards who were observing a beetle with magnifying glasses. Harry pulled Sirius’ portrait out of the beaded bag and hung it on the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm. 

Harry stepped out of the invisibility cloak to say goodbye, leaving Draco still underneath it. He found himself feeling a little wobbly at the moment of parting. “Well,” he said awkwardly. “Look after the Gryffindors. Maybe see you soon?” He started to hold out his hand for a shake, then dropped it, feeling silly. 

“I will,” promised Sirius. “Thank you for finding a place for me.” 

“Of course,” said Harry warmly. His eyes had grown misty again, and he swabbed at his face with his fist, “I’m sorry. I wish things had-”

“Don’t,” interrupted Sirius. “You of all people have nothing to apologise for, Harry. I’m incredibly proud of you.” 

Harry nodded, let his eyes spill over. He reached out and touched the frame, “Goodbye Sirius.”

Sirius’s painted eyes were streaming, too, “Goodbye Harry.” 

“Hey!” came a familiar voice from a little down the corridor. Harry jumped, but soon realised it was the Pink Lady, whose portrait hung over the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room. “Is there a student out of bed down there?” she called. “No students in the corridors. Are you a Gryffindor? Come in at once!”

Harry went and stood before her portrait. “Hello,” he said fondly. 

“Oh hello,” said the Pink Lady brightly. She pursed her lips, apparently trying to place him, “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”

Harry smiled apologetically, “I left six years ago.” 

“Ah,” the Pink Lady nodded. “That would do it. Well wherever your bed is now, you’d best be getting off to it.”

“Thanks,” said Harry. “I will.” He started to turn away, then looked back at the Pink Lady, “I’ve had to leave a friend behind here. Would you look in on him and see he gets settled in? He’s just down the corridor there.”

The Pink Lady nodded kindly, “Of course. Good night, then.”

“Good night.” 

…

  
  


Harry and Draco got back into the Honeydukes cellar without incident. Once they were there, Harry wrapped Draco in a hug, and Disapparated. They landed in the lane just outside their cottage, and Harry gave Draco a kiss when they did.

“I’m not going to ask you for a walk, because I know you prefer to keep your nose and all your other extremities that I’m fond of, and it’s colder than a yeti’s knob out here,” said Harry. “But I want credit for being romantic enough to think of it.”

“Yeti’s knob, yes. I’ll add it to your ledger,” said Draco gravely. “Maybe just a moment or two of stargazing?”

“All right, then.” They looked up at the sky in silence for a bit. It was difficult to see the stars through the mist, but the moon shone, a reassuring fat, yellow wedge, “Thank you for your help tonight,” Harry said presently. 

“You didn’t really need me,” said Draco. “You might have gone on your own.”

“But you were with me,” said Harry. “So I didn’t have to.” He kissed Draco again, “I don’t like to be alone. Sometimes I think I do, but it always works out that I don’t. I’m glad you’re here.”

“So’m I,” Draco took his hand. 

Harry drew a long breath, “I’m still really. Battered. From everything that happened to me. It’s hard not to feel ruined sometimes.”

“You’re not ruined,” said Draco, almost sharply. “You’re  _ not _ . We’re getting better.” 

“I just don’t want it to have to be your problem,” said Harry. 

“You’re not my problem; you’re my family,” Draco corrected. “We’ll work it all out together. Won’t we?”

Harry nodded, feeling a little watery again, “Yeah. Let’s go inside. This cloak’s not so warm.” 

“Nice being close to you, though,” but Draco followed him into the cottage and didn’t object when Harry pulled off the cloak and put it away in a cupboard. 

“I understand why you don’t want to live there,” said Harry when he emerged from the cupboard, as if continuing a conversation they’d been having all along. “I’m not disappointed we’ve left. Not anymore. But.” He nudged Toad aside and sat down next to Draco on the sofa, “People keep telling me how awful Grimmauld Place was, and how I was trapped there. And that isn’t how I felt at all. I felt lucky. I had my own place. And I could use it to help my friends and people who had nowhere to go. How could I not be grateful for that?”

Draco hugged him, “You can be.” Kissed his cheek, “I’m sorry.”

“Did you hate it even when you first came?” asked Harry a little sadly. 

“I didn’t want to leave because I hated it. I didn’t hate it. There were always nice things to eat and some muggle contraption you were fiddling with and books everywhere and dog biscuits in the sofa.  _ You _ were there. And Oggie and Luna and ‘Mione and Ronald. Evan, Bill, Fleur, Neville, Pan, George, Lee. Everyone. You made a place for us to be together and get to know each other over again. And we so needed it after everything we’d been through. I’m grateful, too.”

Harry leaned his head against Draco’s, “So you do understand, then?”

“Of course I understand. I  _ can _ keep up with you, Harry Potter.”

Harry kissed him, “Yes. So you can.”


End file.
